


Burning Up for You

by 2Qualified



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Qualified/pseuds/2Qualified
Summary: A fever and repressed romantic yearnings are the arch nemesis of impulse control.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Burning Up for You

**Author's Note:**

> Another Thursday, another fanfiction.

Like a willow tree in rain, a hunched-over America swayed from side to side, gripping a dimly-lit and vaguely dirty kitchen counter for support; beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his feet burned against the cold floor. He wondered if his neighbor had anything to ease the scratching in his throat.

The cutting glare of an oral digital thermometer pierced through the 3:00 A.M. haze:  _ 105°F _ .

_I’ll have to down some cold medicine before the upcoming world meeting_ , he internally sighed. _A little cold never stopped a hero before. Well, except for Washington._

Washington. He missed having the guidance of such a wise and humble man. Having someone to ask for advice in one’s darkest and most vulnerable moments is invaluable. America tried to think of a word to describe the pure trust that goes into having a mentor; a word synonymous with loyalty, admiration, care, and responsibility.

“Britain,” he mumbled, groggily swiping to the messages app on his phone. The last conversation he had with England was purely logistics related. The cold medicine, fever, and lack of sleep swirled in America’s head and bore a hole in his stomach; a wave of desperation and terror swept over him from seemingly no direction.

* * *

You, 3:07 A.M.

**hey**

Eyebrows, 3:09 A.M.

**America? Isn’t it 3 in the morning for you? Don’t tell me you’re binging scary movies again.**

You, 3:09 A.M.

**u were a good big bro**

Eyebrows, 3:15 A.M.

**What?**

Eyebrows, 3:15 A.M.

**Where is this coming from? If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.**

You, 3:15 A.M.

**it’s not a joke**

You, 3:15 A.M.

**i miss u**

* * *

America watched as the three little dots at the bottom of his screen disappeared and reappeared. Suddenly drained of energy, he slowly slid down the kitchen counter before pressing his face to the cold floor tiles.

* * *

Eyebrows, 3:20 A.M.

**This isn’t like you. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Drunk?**

You, 3:20 A.M.

**fever**

Eyebrows, 3:21 A.M.

**How bad is it?**

Eyebrows 3:21 A.M.

**Clearly it must be bad for you to go and say such things.**

You, 3:22 A.M.

**105**

Eyebrows, 3:22 A.M.

**WYH THE HE**

Eyebrows, 3:22 A.M.

**HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SOONER, YOU ABSOLUTE TWAT**

Eyebrows, 3:29 A.M.

**I’m OMW.**

* * *

America was only partially conscious when England made the decision to rush to DC. He was even less conscious when he sent one last message for the morning.

* * *

You, 3:31 A.M.

**i love you**

* * *

The pitch black room faded into nothingness as America helplessly plunged into an ocean of nightmares and bitter old memories, wriggling in a pool of his own sweat and tears on a plane of cold linoleum.

His first nightmare started off pleasant.

It was a picture perfect spring morning; the nip in the air resulted in England wrapping his coat around a very young America. He was a child again, and sitting in the same field where he met England.

“What kind of flower is this?” America giggled. In his palm was a small pink flower, its petals pointing straight and confident; in the center was a little green ball, with what looked like happy little cotton balls stuck to it.

England took the flower and twirled it between his fingers. “Ah. That’s a hepatica. It’s very beautiful, don’t you think?”

America agreed.

“I hear it symbolizes trust.”

Wind gusted through England’s hair, building in force until the grass around them became as dense and daunting as the night forest. America yelped as lighting ripped through the sky, bringing down a torrential storm in a flash.

“Britain!” America shouted as he was swept away in the rain. “Britain, help!”

England slowly stood up; his attire had transformed into an English revolutionary war uniform. He snapped to glare at America.

“Why didn’t you trust me? Was I not a good enough for you?”

“Britain, I…” America felt a newfound strength as his body morphed into his older self. Like England, he wore a revolutionary war uniform. He shielded his eyes from the rain as he trudged forward. “I had no choice! Please, don’t hate me, Britain. I don’t hate you, I—”

“SHUT UP!” England shook as he screamed. “SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.”

America was in an arm’s length of England; he reached out. “Britain, please…”

England gripped his head like he was in overwhelming pain. America wrapped his arms around him. Without warning, America felt every cell in his body grow cold as England’s body melted into the rain water around them.

In an instant, he was gone.

America fell to his knees and screamed into the rain. The wind howled in his ears, and the water grew in intensity; suddenly America was underwater. In the depths of a newfound ocean was the murky body of England, staring up with dead eyes and a blue face.

His nightmare felt like an eternity, constantly shifting from one prison to another. England would be reborn just to die again in America’s arms. No matter how America tried to warn him, England wouldn’t believe him.

“Please, please believe me,” He begged. “Something’s coming—something bad. W-We have to go.”

“What on Earth are you going on about?” England huffed incredulously.

“It could be anything: your tea, your chair, your own fucking eyebrows. We have to go, now.”

“America, wake up.”

“W-What?”

“Hey, do you hear me? Come on now, snap out of it.”

In reality, England was hunched over America in the kitchen, grimacing at the pool of filth that surrounded them. He shook America by the shoulders. “Come now, you’re having a nightmare. Snap out of it.”

The clock on the stove read:  _ 10:03 _ . England had taken a private jet to Virginia, and then a helicopter to DC as soon as he found out America was sick. The house was littered by trash bags and discarded soda cans. England felt his shoulders stiffen and wondered how long America had been feeling ill.

After a thorough shaking, America began to open his eyes, lazily focusing them on England.

“There we go,” England sighed in relief. “Honestly. You have a king sized bed with your favorite red, white, and blue pillows, but here you are on the nasty floor.”

“Britain,” America croaked. The following sentence was unintelligible, but panicked.

“Shh,” England placed his hand on America’s forehead. “You’re burning up. We’ll get you in some cold water.”

Tears poured down America’s cheeks. “Don’t go, Britain, don’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

England hoisted up the very sticky America, wrapping the other’s arms around his shoulder and moving at a snails pace toward the bathroom. Stripping America of his clothing had been a dream of England’s, but this wasn’t exactly the scenario he had in mind. America yelped as the cold water hit his burning skin. He tried to escape, but England blocked his path; he settled for simply sitting in a ball on the bathtub floor.

“Are you feeling better?” England asked after a few minutes.

“Y-Yeah, thanks.”

“What happened?”

“I guess I just… collapsed. I have some wicked bad nightmares, man. Fuck.”

“You were calling out my name.”

“I saw you die. Many, many times.” America rubbed his face. “Where are my glasses?”

England reached to the sink counter where the glasses sat and passed them to America, who promptly put them on. They stared at each other for awhile, America in a shivering ball, and England in a ruffled suit. America could see where England’s ankle revealed itself between his sock and his dress pants, and he savored the sight.

“Hi.” America half-smiled.

“Hey.” England returned the grin.

“I would’ve met you at the door, but uh…”

England chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“You use that key I gave you?”

“Yep.”

“Good, good…”

England moved to say something, but America cut him off. “Look, I, uh, gotta get some stuff off my chest. Seeing you die so many times, I can’t bear it.” He felt his bottom lip quiver. “I just need to prove to myself that you’re real, and this isn’t another nightmare.”

“What did you have in mind?”

America slowly, hesitantly reached for England's hand. He shut his eyes as he intertwined their fingers. Peaking them open again, he sighed in relief.

England was still there, not at the bottom of the ocean.

England rubbed his thumb along America’s hand. “You should clean yourself up, I’ll order lunch.”

America nodded, but frowned when England let go of his hand.

“Wait,” America blurted as England turned to leave, “When you’re done with the call, can you… come back in here?”

England smirked, “Naturally.”

America felt his grin widen from ear to ear as England left. On a whim, he decided to revisit their text conversation from the early morning. He ruffled through the pile of clothes on the floor and picked out his phone.

* * *

New Messages: 1

From: Eyebrows

Received: 3:35 A.M.

**“I love you, too.”**

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a bigger project in the works for this pairing. I won't post any chapters until the entire work is complete.
> 
> If you liked this work make sure to let me know in the comments. ;) Constructive criticism is appreciated, too.


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